30Forbidden: YuriyPrussia 30 Short Stories
by vatic
Summary: Axis Powers Hetalia/Beyblade crossover, Yuriy / Prussia, Role-play inspired, Fic Challenge for 30 forbidden at LJ, Humiliation, Language, Minor, Violence, rating will go up as stories get heavier.
1. Already Tradition, Theme 08, Never

AN: Since FF[dot]Net wont allow you to put links in your work I will have to copy and past this here from my writing journal so those who are reading understand roughly how the hell this happened.

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Before you read anything, there's a few things that needs to be noted about the situation that these two are in. Obviously they aren't from the same canon. They are in fact role-play inspired from an LJ Panfandom Role-play game. So, I'm going to be using the game's atmosphere and such for these fictions. Its pretty simple, the game is known at DISCEDO LJ but if you don't know it I'll give you a basic run down:

Post-apocalyptic; a closed off decrepit city where a bunch of scientist overlook it from who knows where. Powers are suppressed by a chip planted inside of them that they are unable to feel. Some have had them removed but many have not. There are often murderous outbreaks, monster attacks, lack of supplies personal/food/everything; and so on.

This being said, there are a few changes that Yuriy has adapted to. His bitbeast Wolborg is outside of the chip as an eight-foot wolf, however she is powerless. Just a wolf. Due to obvious Army training since young he took up a pistol and is ironically working with/under Ocelot.

On Prussia's side he is, well, Prussia; and has decided that he rules the city and is seizing the wrong vital regions the end.

So, I hope you enjoy the serious of small drabbles I will hopefully get to writing; with all its bickering, and violence, and so on.

Enjoy.

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**Title**: Already Tradition  
**Author**: Michael LJ  
**Pairing**:Yuriy/Prussia  
**Fandom**: Beyblade/APH  
**Rating**: PG-13  
**Theme**: 08. Never.  
**Summary**: Words lie. Fists rarely do.  
**Disclaimer**: Beyblade and Axis Powers Hetalia do not belong to me. Discedo setting does not belong to me. For more information on how and where, click here:

_F-fuck_. He let out a heavy breath and staggered a bit from the crunch of knuckles hitting his face. This kid hits _hard_, Prussia noted to himself; though he wasn't about to admit that. Instead, the Great Nation Prussia laughed, and retaliated with a blow of his own. His fist came around to slam into the _slightly_ taller man's stomach; evening out the odds in their height. Kid was more like it. He thought, as he watched. Weak little Russian Welp. That was his title now. Prussia laughed again as Yuriy, the receiver of his glorious fist, doubled over with a hard grunt and a furrow of his brows. His face twisted up in, what Prussia thought as, a beautiful expression of pain.

The Nation turned his head to spit out the blood and saliva that had gathered in his mouth; inhaled deeply as he brought his face back in line with the boy leaning against him. A wicked smile tore up on Prussia's face. Yuriy's breath was heavy, hard. He coughed as the fist came against his stomach and made his body fall forward. His knees felt weak. His vision blurred. Neither were going to give up until they couldn't move; both of them were so exhausted that they couldn't think fast enough to block or move out of the other's path anymore. They'd been fighting full contact for about an hour now, and it was slowly creeping up on them. These encounters were tradition by now. When something went wrong, when one of them was lonely, when one of them were irritated or upset. They'd cover it by yelling, and fighting. It never got boring. It never got tiring.

"Aaah!" Yuriy breathed out -- His hair, fire red locks, tugged back by an eagerly violent iron grasp; his counter-attack swept away in this. Vibrant blue eyes looked upward at the dark slate-blue sky. Blood splattered the snow below their feet. Somewhere along the way they'd managed to lose half of their attire. To make it easier to move. To discard things that got in the way. A blue cloak, a pistol, a rapier, a pair of gloves, a hat.

Crisp cold air was taken in quick gasps. It's sound pleased the nation.

"How did a kid like you think you could win against _me_. _Prussia._ A _Nation_," he laughed; scarlet staring down at the squirming figure with cruel satisfaction. Prussia wanted to hear this shithead scream god dammit. Not once, not _once_ did the persistent and prideful bastard scream in pain. Not once. "You think you're so tough. You're nothing but a little commoner. Nothing but a little spec of useless dust. Nothing at all."

Yuriy didn't understand anything Prussia said other than maybe 'me' and 'Prussia' and 'you' and 'you're' and other words here and there. He didn't speak enough German to understand, and Prussia didn't speak any Russian at all. Though, they yelled at each other in their native tongue and somehow ended up understanding in one way or another. SO it wasn't hard to guess what was being said, and the boy pulled back a snarl. His eyes narrowed in response.

The struggle Prussia mocked, "awe, am I hurting you?" He taunted, coldly. "Would you like me to go lighter on you little Russian boy? Poor little pathetic Russian boy." He laughed, "all you have to do is admit defeat. I can be merciful sometimes you know."

Prussia wanted to hear it even though it was clear that he, Prussia, was the superior one. The thought of this Russian trash crying out how pitiful he was in comparison filled the Nation of Prussia with unfathomable amounts of glee. It warmed his body with a delicious sensation; Prussia felt to laugh more, it was too wonderful. This little bastard had been challenging and mocking the authority and obvious superiority of Prussia since he had arrived. It'd been a month already. Truthfully, Prussia was frustrated, for more reasons than one, and this little Russian served to be a perfect punching bag to get that frustration out on.

Unfortunately Yuriy had no intention on doing what Prussia told him to. He'd been against stronger hands. Balcoff's punishments for when you were out of line were absolutely brutal. Yuriy was no little welp even if he was only sixteen. A sixteen year old boy going up against a well aged personification of Prussia. He was prideful, like Prussia was prideful. Yuriy had seen his fill of battles. Lost his share of comrades because they weren't good enough. Had an unstoppable need to be on top, to be powerful and strong, to be acknowledged. No way in hell some fucking German piece of shit was going to take him down. Even if said German was a Nation, apparently.

His arms, a little weakened and shaky, rose. His hands snapped around the Nation's neck and for _just_ a moment he saw slight panic in those scarlet eyes from the bottom corner of his own. It made him smirk.

"In your dreams, pighead," Yuriy said, though he made certain to say pighead in German. With that, he rose a knee to square right in between the legs. Prussia's immediate curl in reaction made damn sure to involve bringing that head of red hair to met the ground as he cried - a manly cry at that - "Motherfucker," and almost laughed a little after the initial gasp. "You cheap little bastard!"

Although Yuriy's body was brought down to the ground, the grasp on his hair loosened just enough for him to move. He snapped the hand away and quickly reached out to grab and pull an ankle. A squawk pipped out of the Nation as he hit the ground, and was quickly straddled and knocked in the face soon there after. He panted, and his bare hands crunched into the snow right beside the Nation's face. His arm was shaking; weight leaning on it. Yuriy could barely feel the cold.

Blood red looked at the trembling wrist. His light blond hair almost disappearing in the snow. The light sweat on his back turned cold. His breath a bit harder than he'd admit to.

"Victory," Yuriy said thinly, "is all that matters." Prussia rolled his head to look up at the half-lidded blues. A smirk tugged back on his lips. "I. Don't. Understand you." He laughed a little, quietly. It looked like this kid was going to pass out.

There was silence, until Yuriy spoke again, "I win." and collapsed.

" . . . " Prussia looked up at the sky for a moment. He hurt more than he was going to own up to, although he didn't particularly feel it to its full extent right now. Not when his adrenalin was so high. For a moment he considered . . . Haha, fuck that! HE WON. The Nation laughed and he pushed the young boy's unconscious body off of him, and, shakingly, got to his feet. "Haha!" Prussia shouted, "This proves that I am superior you stupid Russian!"

Not as if Yuriy would hear him. Prussia didn't care about that. He turned toward where he'd tossed his rapier and cloak and collapsed about a foot away from them. Fucking Russian. Who the hell was this kid. Haha. Hahaha. That was a good fight.

This would never get old. Never.


	2. Nice Hat, Theme 16, Amuse

**Title**: Nice hat.  
**Author**: Michael & Borrowed script from Rp with Linda  
**Pairing**:Yuriy/Prussia  
**Fandom**: Beyblade/APH  
**Rating**: PG-13 for mild violence and language.  
**Theme**: 16. Amuse  
**Summary**: A battle of history turns into a hat stomp parade. No, seriously.  
**Disclaimer**: Beyblade and Axis Powers Hetalia do not belong to me. Discedo setting does not belong to me. For more information on how and where, click here. This is set during a random player plot where a mage's powers went out of control. One of the effects were that random being were turned in to hats.

[ Why aren't you a hat yet? ]

Those were the words Yuriy had seen come up on the screen when he was trying to get things done. Truth was, Yuriy was failing as much as Prussia was failing. Although the young redhead would of course state that Prussia was failing more, and Yuriy didn't _need_ an army troop, or anything of the kind. No, more than that. Yuriy didn't feel there was anyone _worth_ that here. Prussia could have his stupid little army of complete failure, like his army always was.

[ Because I'm Russian, and you're German, and god hates you. What kind of question is that? ] -- Was his response after he took some time to stare at it. There was moderate amounts of silence for a moment. He wasn't in the best of moods for this. The disorganization of this city was starting to bother him. The lack of purpose was starting to bother him even more. Though, even at Yuriy's most irritated, sour, horrible moods, it was impossible to walk away from Prussia. Even when he was suppose to be apathetic, something about that god damn German made it impossible to be apathetic. So Yuriy sat there in the cold warehouse he'd make home for now; Wolborg's tail wrapped around his body for a little warmth. He sat on one of the many wooden crates with the communicator on hand. This was the only way they actually understood what the hell the other was saying. Verbally, anyways.

[ Have you failed to noticed everyone complaining about talking hats? Go outside and find some crazy wind guy, he'll fix you up. ]

[ I noticed, pighead. I wondered why you would think I would be stupid enough to go out and get turned into a hat. You being the more likely to waltz into the firing range of something. ] -- Yuriy typed up and sent out a moment later.

The boy sighed a little to himself with a frown on his lips. He missed his home, and he hurt, but he refused to show this to anyone. Although it was only Wolborg here right now. Yuriy figured he could afford a little letting down of his guard. He leaned back on her sturdy body and laid his face down on her soft fur. [ But you're _Russian_. ] Popped up a second latter.

Yuriy's brows furrowed. Wolborg herself almost sighed as she took to crossing her paws and laid her head down on top of them. She wasn't going to say anything. This had become a daily ritual. If it comforted him than so be it. Survival was survival, wasn't it?

Yuriy didn't waste much time in responding.-- [ Russia, whom successfully blew the shit out of Germany. While Germany's tanks froze because they chose to attack during winter and didn't even get to Moscow. Even Napoleon got to Moscow at least. ]

There was a bit of a longer pause before Prussia responded. For a moment he panicked. No, he was just thrown off guard. yeah, that was it. He was thrown off guard because he didn't know what a god damn tank was. What the hell was this little shit talking about? Prussia frowned, and responded. [ What the fuck is a tank. You're making that shit up. ]

Yuriy brought up a bit of a smirk, and typed back. -- [ Why would I need to make up your failures? There's an abundance of them, really. No need to bullshit it.

I guess that means that you come before Hitler's time. He laughed at this. Haha. Hitler. Hitler wasn't even fucking German. I don't know, half of me wants to feel happy for you. Than again, Hitler is just one of Germany's many embarrassing moments in history. He thought a little. Well, he might as well ask. It might be useful. For leverage or... something like that. What year did you come from? ]

"You stupid little serf, I will destroy you," he swore, in German, with his German-hat-slave-person laying around. Anything that piped from that was promptly ignored as he went back to typing. -- [ _My_ failures? Haha! Don't get me started on Russia's failures. Even Old Fritz said you guys were way too stupid to know when you were beat. We'd have to massacre the lot of you before your drunk generals got the picture.

1820. Which means I was kicking Russia's ass not that long ago. ]

Yuriy knew his Soviet history better than he knew his Pre-Soviet Russia history. Most things 1918 and up. The redhead frowned and huffed out a cold iced breath. He remembered one thing though, and his lips cracked up a smirk as he went to responding to Prussia's latest failure in threats and besting. -- [ Does 1759 put off any alarms in that head of yours? Kind of like gunfire. Kind of like you, the great Prussia, walking right in to it.

Endurance, Prussia. We're still on the map. Unlike you. If I were you, I'd hope you never return home. To endure such absolute defeat at the hands of the Red Army - I almost feel sorry for you. Really I do. ]

"P-Prussia..?" Silence and anger shook through his body. "Shutup hat," Prussia spat.

This fucking brat. This god damned insolent little Russian _boy_. He was going to see to it that _no one_ - No. One. - Would ever _ever_ lay even a single finger on this kid but him; and his fingers would ensure _the end of him!!_ Hahaha! AAAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!! - Prussia rose from his spot howling in laughter. Fire roaring in his eyes and a wickedly twisted smile quirking back his lips. Whatever it was that laced the laughter's tone - anger, denial, insanity, probably all three and than some - it certainly didn't sound natural in the least.

"I will crush him!" He yelled, swooping his cape back to place a hand on his hip as he propped up the bottom of his boot against the corner of a chair. His chin raised up looking all too full of pride and victory. A curled fist rose as he continued his speech, "Again, and again, and again until this stupid little Russian finally learns his lesson! The lesson that I, the most _glorious_ Nation of Prussia, am vastly superior in every single way and these foul **lies** only serve as entertainment!!"

He felt eagerness grow up inside of him and urged him to forward and fight; he felt laughter boil up through his body at the thoughts of the little boy crushed in the snow. Whimpering helplessly beneath him like a little dog. Like a poor beaten little puppy. HAHAHA! The laughter was almost a giggle at first; his grin large enough to make his face crack. Anxiety tore through his muscles; The excess of adrenalin was so heavy he needed a release for it, and _now_. Prussia tipped back his head a second later as he let out insane rolls of laughter - _Hahaha. Yes... __YES_. This boy will **FAIL**! Again! Again and again! - and stopped abruptly.

"Hat," The Nation addressed it pointedly as the chair was kicked away and boot stepped down to greet the other with an assured stomp. "I'm going out. I will be back."

With that, Prussia swiftly made toward the door and swung it open letting it slam shut only to open it once more a second later. His eyes looked back at the talking hat - some kid who also spoke German who was most fortunate to be found by the Great Prussia. "And I will be victorious!" The nation felt to add; than finally left.

Prussia had no idea where this twit stayed but no one could hide from the Nation of Prussia! NO ONE!

[ That was a cheap move by Russia! Even with that _very small loss_, I still was able to kick all of Europe's ass! That stupid bumpkin just got lucky in one battle! That was it!

Shut the hell up! I still have my land! Discedo's mine! Europe's mine! And what does Russia have? Lots of crappy snow and ice! That's it! Fritz was right! I guess I didn't hit you hard enough last time for you to get the picture. Come on out little Russian, I'm going to find you and smash your face in again and again until you understand! ]

Yuriy on the other hand had almost fallen asleep by the time Prussia responded. He felt drained, and didn't get much sleep last night. His fingers curled into the fur of Wolborg's tail when the PDA made a noise to identify network activity. Blues moved toward the screen. Wolborg moved her eyes back toward the boy for a moment as she heard Yuriy begin to chuckle.

"Oh," he said in his own native tongue, "is that so Prussia? Heheheh. Well, we'll see. We'll see! No one ever beats be twice, you hear me?! DO you hear me?! NO ONE!" -- Of course Prussia didn't hear him. He wasn't even talking in to the PDA, but Yuriy didn't care. He was no longer tired and no longer in pain.

"You'll see. I'll show you what Russian's are capable of! I'll show you!" Yuriy shouted and laughed as he stood up and shoved off the tail. If Wolborg could have rolled her eyes, she would have.

The boy marched forward a few steps; determination streaked his brows. Feet stopped. Head snapped back. "Wolborg," Yuriy addressed, and he rose a small smile. "Stay here, I wont be long."

Wolborg relaxed already knowing. A flick of her tail could have almost been considered a wave as the boy marched out into the streets. Wild wind hitting his face but he was used to that. He used to Beyblade in Siberia for training purposes. They also used to do drills in Siberia. Run through snow storms to build their endurance. This was nothing.

He moved out to the middle of the street after looking around. Slowly, a bit cautiously but calmly, he walked forward. There was a very slight limp. His face was bruised, and he hated that there was nothing to cover it up. Though that familiar figure began to come into sight. Yuriy stopped, grinning. A hand rose to his hip. He could see trances of bruising on the others face, and chuckled lowly to himself. His ugly mug looked a lot better all blue, black, and purple. Not to mention it felt good. It felt really good; and it felt good to be able to make this stupid German come to him, march his war forward right into the line of fire. It felt good to watch the anger tense up his body and scream out his lips as he yelled out in a language Yuriy didn't really understand and had no intention to learn. It felt good.

"What are you standing there like that for you stupid Russian?!" He yelled, not like Yuriy could understand.

"I'm feeling nice today," Prussia was tired, he didn't want to admit how much their fight had taken out of him. Some little serf put up _that_ much of a fight for him, Prussia. What a bastard! "I'll give you a chance to--" He was cut short as his feet closed in and Yuriy's fist cracked into Prussia's already bruised Jaw.

"You..." Prussis glared up at the smirking boy. Fire red hair, blue eyes looking all too smug. That motherfucker.

"Awe," the boy almost cooed, cruely. "Is the little Prussia a bit tired?" - "I hate to see you in so much pain, I really do." He chuckled, "Would you--" It was his turn to be cut short by a fist. Though Prussia followed up by grabbing the front of the boy's ski-suit and tossing him into the brick wall of a building just a few feet away.

"Blah, blah, blah! I'm going to beat your face in so bad that no one will be able to recognize you when I'm done! Not like anyone cares or knows who you are now! Hahaha, you little nobody!" He ran forward, consequentially receiving two feet into his stomach that propelled him back across the street and hard onto his ass. Prussia exhaled sharply.

_Not like anyone cares or knows who you are now! Hahaha, you little nobody!_ That insult stung more than Yuriy was going to admit.

"What was that you said?" Yuriy called out arrogantly as he rose back up to his feet and wiped the blood from his lips. Dammit his jaw hurt. Prussia slowly stood up as well.

"I said," he started; again with the somehow knowing what the other said even if they didn't speak eachother's language - was this normal? His back hunched a little, but snapped up a second later taking his proud and challenging stance. An arm rose out to point, "_You_" -- and than, something unexpected.

Silence. Yuriy blinked. It happened in a flash. Prussia was... a hat. The young Russian stepped forward, already hearing what he expected to be curses. (He recognized a few). The redhead chuckled.

"What was that you were saying, Prussia?" Yuriy mocked as he stopped a bare inch from the hat. It looked just like that stupid hat Prussia often wore. The hat was far too concerned with himself, screaming and freaking out, to even realized Yuriy's intentions.

"Squeal louder you pig!" He shouted as he stomped on the hat onc, twice; again, and again, laughing as he did it until his foot pulled back and he kicked the Prussia-hat a good long ways down the street. You could hear Prussia's scream fade away as the distance grew. Yuriy stood there and watched with a disgustingly malevolent smile.

Hahahaha. HAHAHAHAHAHAHA. AAAAAHAHAHAHAHHAHAHAHAHAHA. He laughed moments later, almost the exact same kind of laugh Prussia laughed and than turned to head back into the warehouse.

"I win, pighead."


End file.
